Withered in December

I always wanted to give poetry a try, so here it is. Please note that I'm not very good at it yet.

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How did we end up

like

this?

 

Picking up our

broken bones

and licking our

wounds

when we

should

be

picking up

daisies

to put in our hair

 

How did we end up

this old?

When we are barely

adults, grown up

too fast and

gone

too soon

like the beautiful May blossoms

withered in December

 

How did we end up

this sad?

This mad?

This wrecking ball,

this crumbling house about to fall

on all our heads

and hearts

which are rusted, like used

robots parts, made to break and burn

in time

 

How did we end up

here at all?

Grounded by the

happiness

which is scarce nowadays,

like trying to find a piece of hay

in a stack of needles,

poking and prodding

on all our bruised parts

drawing blood where we thought

there was none

 

How did we end up

okay?

After all this time,

we still stand, although

maybe not so strong,

but sturdy

and solid

and beautiful

despite the lies we tell

ourselves

deep in dark of night, when a thought sends us

careening off the tightrope

we grip so hard

 

We were

broken and bruised and frozen and shredded

but we are okay and we will be

strong and wonderful and wise and

happy

 

We are

We will be-

 

 

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